Unto the Breach, One Last Time
by pewterlocket
Summary: Marriage Law story with a twist: Will Severus Snape be forced to destroy everything, including any chance he has at happiness? Or will he learn the truth in time? What did he really promise Albus Dumbledore?
1. Chapter 1

Introduction: This is my first HP story and the obligatory Marriage Law yarn but hopefully I've been able to imbue it with a few interesting and compelling twists. There is some Ron and Harry bashing, but only because it feels good on Severus's behalf, not because I actually dislike those characters. It is compliant with all seven of JKR's books with the exception that Severus Snape survives, obviously, and I've tossed out the Epilogue. Things get quite steamy with SS/HG (hence very deserving of the M rating) and some of Snape's behavior is questionable (when isn't it?). The story is all plotted out and will end up being 8-10 chapters long. Reviews welcome.

DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to JK Rowling, bless her soul.

Chapter 1: The Portkey

* * *

Like butterflies, the folded pieces of parchment fluttered about inside the golden cage that floated above the center dais. Occasionally a new one appeared with a bright, bluish sparkle; and, less frequently, one was consumed in a flare of red flame.

Severus Snape was in a daze and a bit unsteady on his feet as he watched the wizard at the front of the line step up to the cage. The past two months he had spent in St. Mungo's and barely thirty minutes had passed since he had dressed himself for the first time. Aurors had shown up immediately thereafter and escorted him to the Ministry of Magic, over the protestations of his Healers. Initially, he thought it was to answer for his crimes during the war, despite a vague, dream-like recollection of Healer Pye mentioning he'd been cleared of any charges. They had put him in this line, in this nondescript room, with these other, harmless looking wizards - also accompanied by Aurors - and he was confused.

He hated feeling physically weak. He hated not being in control of any situation he found himself in. But instincts, honed over the course of twenty years as a spy, informed him that something was wrong and he employed two of his favorite fail-safe devices for taking control of a situation: observe without appearing to do so and provoke those around him into talking.

He turned his considerable and weighty frown on the apparent babysitter loitering at his elbow. The Auror fidgeted. "Mr. Goodrich, isn't it? Hufflepuff?" The young man blushed - blushed! - and then grinned.

"I'm s-surprised you remember me, Professor." He stammered out.

"You managed to gas half your classmates in your third year Potions, Mr. Goodrich, of course I remember you. Not a distinction one would want, I am sure, but a distinction nonetheless." He watched as the young man's grin slipped into a tight, abashed grimace. If I'm being guarded by a Hufflepuff, Snape mused to himself, the Ministry can't think I'm that much of a threat. So . . . "What precisely is going on here and why is my presence required?"

"It's the new law, Professor. Oh, here - it's your turn." The wizard in front of him had pulled one one of the fluttering parchments out of the cage and was now being herded to the exit by his attending Auror escort. Something still had him unsettled about the situation and he balked, refusing to approach the dais.

"I demand to know what is going on." He said flatly. "Why am I . . ." A sudden weakness washed over him and his legs felt to give out. Not surprising, actually. All but the last three days since LV's demise had been spent in a coma while his body rid itself of snake venom and attempted to heal. With the courage of a Gryffindor, Goodrich took hold of his arm and steadied him. Snape scowled.

"I'll explain everything after you select one." Goodrich said, ignoring the scowl and indicating the cage. Suspicion lay heavy in Snape's eyes. "Come now, professor. Select a parchment and I can take you somewhere you can catch your breath and have a bit of a rest."

Reluctantly, Snape nodded and extended his hand into the golden cage. Just at that moment, a bluish light sparkled and he grabbed hold of the flapping piece of parchment that appeared within the reach of his thin fingers. Goodrich tightened his grip on Snape's elbow and steered him to the exit. And down a hall. And into a room.

"You can rest here, Professor," Goodrich tried smiling again and guided his former teacher to sit on the edge of a rather large, comfortable bed. "And congratulations."

"For what, Mr. Goodrich? Being upright for more than half an hour?" Snape snapped.

"On your marriage, sir." The Auror pointed down at Snape's left hand which now sported a band of gold. The black eyes took aim at his escort and let loose a glare of such ferocity that Goodrich wisely took a step back toward the door.

"What have you done?" Snape growled at the retreating Hufflepuff.

"The new marriage law, Professor. Ring. Bridal suite." Goodrich swept his hand grandly about the room. "And bride." He indicated the parchment still clutched in Snape's hand and got out while the getting was good. Snape unfolded the parchment and read the name there.

"Bloody hell!"

Adrenaline now fueling his limbs, he launched himself off the bed and at the door that had just snicked shut.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ron's voice seemed a bit strained and so caught her attention over the ambient din that accompanied a Weasley family picnic. She glanced up from her plate and across the table to where he sat, a frown hovering over those blue, blue eyes. She knew her smile was sappy, but she couldn't help herself. Life was perfect.

"Yes, Ron?"

"Where is your ring?" In a panic, she looked down at her hand. Her engagement ring was gone.

"Hermione, where is your ring?" Raw concern now edged his voice. Hermione jumped to her feet, almost tumbling to the ground trying to untangle herself from the bench seat.

"It got dirty when we were de-gnoming the garden." She half-ran to the tool shed, Ron right behind her. "I took it off to clean it and got sidetracked . . . it should be in here." Her tension eased as she picked up the ring from the ledge at the back of the sink. "Oh, thank Merlin!" She went to put it on, but Ron took hold of her hands.

"Here, let me." That sappy grin was now on both of their faces as he gently took her left hand in his and lifted the ring in order to slide it back onto her finger. But as he looked down, horror contorted his features.

"No!" he gasped.

"Ron?" She looked down, too, and there it was - a golden wedding band. "Ron!" She flung herself at her former fiancé just as the ring on her finger glowed a bright blue. She felt the sickening pull behind her navel and was buffeted by whirling wind and color as the Portkey activated.

* * *

She landed hard and staggered forward, the momentum from the attempted leap into Ron's arms translating instantaneously to wherever she had been transported to. The whirl of colors disappeared and all she could see was billowing black, which no amount of flailing about could prevent her from plowing into. The blackness was a bit more substantial than it first appeared because she connected solidly. The debacle took a fortunate turn when both she and her accidental target landed on a rather comfortable . . . bed? Bed. She lifted her head, brushed the wild tangle of hair from her face and saw what - who - she had landed on.

"Bloody hell!" She screeched.

Severus Snape, her new husband.

"No, no, no, no, no!" She shrieked as she quickly scrabbled backwards off the man and off the mattress. In her retreat, a knee squished into a spot not quite as firm as the rest of her former potions professor. Said former potions professor howled bloody murder and jerked into a ball as he violently rolled onto his side.

"I knew I should have let that damn snake kill me," Snape gasped. Hermione ignored him, flew to the door and yanked on the handle. It was locked. She began pounding on the thick wood with her fists.

"You've made a mistake! I'm engaged! Let me out!" She stopped yelling for a moment to listen for a response. The man curled on the bed, in a puddle of black robes, groaned. Hermione attacked the door again. "Help, help! Let me out. Let me out now!" She pounded until her fists started hurting. She felt demented, like her mind was going to snap. After a year of deprivation hunting horcruxes; the massive casualties from the final battle; the irrevocable memory charm she had placed on her parents to save their lives; after everything she had endured, she just couldn't abide another loss. They had to fix this - they just had to.

* * *

When the throbbing in his ears finally hurt more than the throbbing in his groin, Snape decided commentary would be necessary. Slowly, painfully, he uncurled and tentatively stretched out full length on the bed, and managed to drag himself toward a pillow. He might live after all.

"Miss Granger." The familiar deadly calm of the potions master's voice seemed to cut through the apparent hysteria of the girl pounding on the door and screaming her lungs out. Tearfully, she turned to look at him, slid down the stubborn door and ended up almost a heap on the floor. "You are supposedly renowned for your intelligence, knowledge and competence," he graced her with a look of pure skepticism and continued. "Surely you can employ some fraction of those qualities toward resolving this problem?" He frowned at the lack of a response.

"Get up off the floor, you silly girl, and let's figure out how to get out of this mess." He snapped at her and waved his hand. A chair from the corner of the room slid across the floor and up to the edge of the bed. Rubbing her face with the back of her sleeve, Hermione hauled herself from off the floor and meekly sat down in the proffered chair.

"That's better," he said. "First, tell me about this idiotic new law."

* * *

"You . . . you haven't heard?" she said.

"Miss Granger, evidently I've been in hospital ever since Nagini savaged me in the Shrieking Shack - and unconscious up until three days ago and barely then. I should be there still, from what the Healers told me, but I have been forced into this ridiculous situation and I must say I am not pleased." From the stormy look on his face, Hermione considered that an understatement. She cleared her throat.

"The Ministry believes the quickest way to recover our magical population after the casualties of the war is to press all single witches and wizards capable of child-bearing and rearing into marriage. The names of all single women of requisite age, unless wearing a Ministry issued engagement ring, are put into a lottery. They drag eligible and non-compliant wizards in to make a random selection and, since no one has a choice in the matter, no actual wedding is needed. We're simply put under a binding magical contract. The couple is kept in "wedding suites" in the Ministry until . . . until . . ." She stopped, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"Until the marriage is consummated." Snape groaned. "Of course. The contract has to have some tacit agreement between the so-called participants or it cannot be binding. Holding the parties hostage until they . . . give in . . . would be their only recourse to get this demonic plan to work." The look on his face was identical to the one he wore just before he would swoop down on Neville Longbottom in potions class.

"And some Ministry idiot thinks me capable of adequately raising a child? Did they learn nothing from two wars with the . . ." he hesitated, ". . . with Voldemort? That unwanted children are more likely to turn dark than not? Imbeciles. Twenty-five years from now we will be fighting the same war all over again simply due to their lack of foresight."

He experimentally stretched a leg, winced, and settled it back into its previous position. "And you may have already solved your own problem, Miss Granger. The damage sustained from our first time in bed together . . ." he glanced at her through narrowed eyes and she felt her face burn with embarrassment, quickly raising a hand to her cheek to hide the bright pink flush ". . . might have actually disqualified me from completing my part of the contract forced upon us. I suspect the marriage could be annulled on the grounds that I cannot perform my conjugal duties."

"Really?" That bit of information gave her an inkling of hope and she sat up a little straighter, her face lit with the theoretical possibility.

Snape scowled. "I'm glad to see you are so concerned for my physical well-being," he muttered. She blushed again and dropped her head, looking morosely at the floor. Something prickled behind her eyes. Hermione felt like she was going to cry again. There was an unusual silence where Snape actually seemed to fidget uncomfortably. He cleared his throat.

"So you were engaged?"

"Are." Hermione corrected. "Am."

"Let me guess - Weasley?"

She gaped at him. "How did you . . . ?" He had been their teacher for six years after all. Perhaps he paid more attention to them than she had expected. "Yes, sir. The wedding is scheduled for next month."

"Then why didn't he get you one of those Ministry engagement rings?"

"I took it off to clean and forgot to put it back on. After an hour or so without the ring on, my name was put back into the lottery."

"Well, then our solution is simple. I suspect Weasley is on his way here as we speak, to explain to the authorities what happened and therefore we will shortly be released from our contract and this room. We simply have to wait it out." His eyelids drooped. "Your knight in shining armor is on his way, Miss Granger." The last was spoken very softly. Hermione looked over at him just as his eyes fluttered closed. And as softly, "I am exhausted. Try not to molest me any further while I indulge in some much . . . needed . . . " his voice drifted. Then he seemed to rally a bit with some random thought. "With Voldemort gone . . ." The scowl on his faced eased and then quietly slunk away. He looked much younger when he wasn't so fierce.

"Thanks to Harry," Hermione said and saw a slight frown contract his brow and then disappear as sleep took him completely.

"And thanks to you, Professor." Hermione added as she watched him sleep. Yes, Ron would be coming for her; coming to rescue her. She tried to imagine him galloping up on a white horse, in one of the suits of armor from Hogwarts, but for some reason the image wasn't forthcoming.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Freshly Mown Grass

* * *

Snape tried to open his eyes but his lids seemed weighted with lead. He felt almost drugged and so gave it up for the moment. Somewhere near the back of his brain something now niggled at the edge of conscious thought. Something that disturbed him, but he couldn't grab hold of it nor force it to show itself. Instead he tried his eyelids again. This time they worked.

There wasn't much to see. The afternoon light coming from the simulated window had bled away to evening, leaving a dull, rusty glow barely filling the room. Several sconces had been lit and they added to the lumination, but not by much. He must have slept for several hours. To his great relief, Miss Granger was no where in sight. Weasley must have come to the rescue after all. Every once in a while he was grateful for Gryffindor sensibilities. It certainly had helped him out of this situation.

Gingerly, he maneuvered to the edge of the mattress and pushed himself to his feet. He would have preferred remaining in bed, but now it was his bladder niggling at him and he wasn't sure when the Aurors would show up - he was certain he wasn't getting away as easily as Miss Granger had. He took hold of the knob to the bathroom and turned. It was a sign that his mind was still a bit woozy that he remembered there was no reason for the door to be closed - at precisely the moment he entered the bathroom. The resulting screech reverberated throughout the small room, ran up his spine and threatened to burst his eardrums. Reflexively, he stepped back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

For all the years that Snape worked as a spy, he had kept a tight rein on his emotions and his reactions. But now, after his injury, and perhaps because of the residual poison still in his system, his nerves seemed to be shot. Shakily, he sat down at the small table in the corner across from the bed and set about composing himself. Miss Granger would be finished with her shower shortly and he would have to present his usual curmudgeonly self, even if he really didn't have the energy to do so. It wouldn't do to show weakness on this front. He was already uncomfortable with his physical limitations in the presence of his former student.

At the same time, he recognized that he was trapped. He had really not expected to survive Voldemort and so had made no plans for life afterward, but never in his imagination could he have predicted this. He now found himself in an ludicrous position, and it would behoove him to tread lightly, at least until he found a way to fully assess all of his options and then extricate himself. Of course, this was certainly better than Azkaban, but perhaps not by much. The bathroom door opened and he straightened in his chair; the harpy was back. He slipped easily, comfortably even, back into his persona of spy.

"My apologies, Professor, the door doesn't have a lock. I thought you would have guessed at where I was." She stood just inside the bathroom toweling her hair, having re-dressed herself in the clothing she'd had on earlier.

"I believed Weasley had come for you, Miss Granger," . . . _and you cannot imagine how disappointed I am that he has not_, thought Snape, but knowing he might need her on his side at some point, instead he chose to say, "I'm sure it's just a matter of paperwork, Ministry bureaucracy being what it is."

She nodded and stepped into the bedroom. The towel she had wrapped around her head vanished and her wet tangle of curls fell down about her head and into her face. "Oh! That's a rather odd enchantment to place on a towel," she said as she flipped damp strands out of her eyes." I guess it prevents guests from stealing the linens." She was attempting to finger-comb her wet mane, but seemed to be making more of a mess than not. "Somehow they took my wand during the Portkey transit. I guess I'll have to let this dry on its own."

"Here," said Snape and pulled a chair from the table, placing it in front of him. "Have a seat."

* * *

Hermione looked at him a bit suspiciously, fingers tangled in her hair. He indicated the chair again and she turned and sat down, her back to him, wet hair cascading over her shoulders. Snape started at the crown of her head and ran his hands over her scalp. She closed her eyes as glorious warmth radiated from his fingers and he gently worked them through her tangles. That felt so good. In a few short minutes her hair was dry. She reached up to check it and found her usual frizz was gone - smoothed out - and her hair hung softly in thick curls.

"What did you do?" She asked, popping up from the chair and walking back into the bathroom. The mirror above the vanity showed her what her hands had felt; frizzless curls softly framing her face and falling heavily around her shoulders. A whole bottle of SleekEazy couldn't have produced this effect. Hermione poked her head out of the bathroom. "How did you make my hair behave so well?"

"It's a spell I devised years ago," said Snape. Her eyes moved to examine his lank black hair, which looked much as it had for as long as she had known him. "It only improves upon what is essentially already there," he added, voice going slightly hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat and Hermione noticed he seemed much paler than he had when she had first come out of the bathroom. And he seemed to be gripping the table edge a bit desperately.

"Professor, are you okay?"

"I think I might benefit from a little more rest." He moved to stand and Hermione rushed to steady him when he seemed to wobble a bit, but he waved her away. "That bit of magic seems to have depleted me somewhat." He managed to make it to the bed and half collapsed onto it. She stood nearby and studied his face. It was rather drawn.

He opened an eye. "We might as well get to work on our plans to get shut of this place, wouldn't you say, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione." She smiled at him. "Since we're confederates now." A few moments passed where he evidently was assessing this new familiarity and nodded.

"Severus," he said.

"Well, Severus, while you were asleep, I made a list."

"Of course you did, Miss . . . Hermione." He shifted a bit and looked about. "So where is this list?"

"Over here on the wall. I happened to have a Muggle pencil in my pocket before getting Portkeyed here. Since they have been so rude as to not provide any parchment, I've just jotted down items wherever there was space on the wall."

"And the purpose?"

"Tabulate our resources. See if we have anything that can help us escape."

"And what do we have so far?"

"Well, my wand was taken from me and I suspect yours was too?" she asked. He nodded.

"It was confiscated at the hospital before they brought me here."

"But you're very good at wandless magic, so we're not completely without. That will be useful . . . especially if they're not expecting it."

"I probably will not be useful for a while. Simple spells won't be too hard, but more complex ones, like that last spell, will drain quite a bit out of me," he said, glancing quickly at her hair. Her hand unconsciously reached up to play with a curl.

"We can spend our time planning until you're stronger." An idea suddenly popped into her mind. "You know, I've just thought of an even better way to pass the time, Severus. You can teach me wandless magic."

"You are _volunteering_ to take lessons from me?" he smirked at her. She returned his smirk and raised him a nod. "My, my, Miss Grang . . . Hermione, you _have_ matured over the past year."

For some odd reason, his assessment pleased her no end, but she did her best not to glow at what she took for praise. _Praise_, from the one teacher she had been so desperate to impress while at Hogwarts. Who knew that all she had to do was grow up? Oh. Well, there was a bit of insight. But that was something to ponder about later on; back to the business at hand.

"So. Our list." She took a deep breath. "There are four mortared stone walls in this room. The mortar might be a point of weakness that we can exploit. Wooden ceiling and floor, the seams of which might also be possible points of weakness. There is the door to the bathroom and this other door . . ."

"Leads to a hallway, the lottery room and then the Ministry atrium."

"Good to know. We have the fireplace across from the table and chairs, left of the bed and on the same wall."

"Have you ascertained if its flue leads outside or if the chimney gases are magically disposed of?"

"No. Would it matter?"

"It might. We can check that later. Continue," he said. Hermione scribbled a few notes on the stone.

"We have the simulated window on the wall right of the bed. I don't think that will be of much use, as realistic as the enchantment is."

"It might help us keep track of time, though. The best enchantments are magical portals that look out onto real scenes - landscapes, cityscapes, seascapes, etc, - and show the actual movements of the sun and moon. We essentially have a calendar at our disposal."

"And the bed itself - mattress, bedding, iron posts and frame to support that single swath of fabric used as a canopy. Oh and the bathroom is windowless, has a sink, toilet and shower." Her cheeks flushed a bit. "The shower is completely open - no curtain, door or blocking entrance. Which explains my reaction before when you and the door doesn't lock I think I mentioned that earlier when I did try a locking spell but it didn't work for some reason since you seemed so tired and "_I'm babbling my brains out here_. She shut her mouth.

"Now you're just babbling, girl," scoffed Snape.

The sconces suddenly extinguished and the room went black.

"It appears we have a curfew." Severus said, a disembodied voice in the dark. A ball of soft-blue light suddenly appeared. She could see it hovering just above his hand, illuminating his face. "I purpose we retire for the night and continue our assessment in the morning. Seems we both could do with some rest." The ball of light floated gracefully upwards and seemed to bob gently a few feet under the canopy. Hermione walked around to the other side of the bed and went to pull the covers back, but hesitated; a crazy sense of the absurd overtook her.

"You know, a gentleman would offer a lady the bed and sleep on the floor himself."

"You're not a lady, you're my wife," said Severus, voice dripping sarcasm. For the first time since their ordeal had begun, she laughed and marveled at how good it felt to do so.

"Well, I suppose I will respect my _elders_ . . ." she emphasized the word " . . . and let you have that _quarter_ of the bed," she said as she slipped beneath the covers. On her side, facing him, she arranged the bedding around her to her liking.

"Impertinent chit."

"Re-dund-ant," she said in sing-song.

"Go to sleep."

"Turn off the light."

"Ah. Your first lesson in wandless magic. You turn it off," he said. She wiggled onto her back and looked up at the luminous ball above them.

_"Nox!"_

Nothing happened.

_"Nox!"_ she said, a little louder. Still nothing. She sat up in bed and swat at it.

_"Nox! Nox! Nox!"_ She heard Severus groan.

"Granger. Hermione. Please, try a little more . . . and I'm not going to explain this tonight . . . elegance . . . with your spells."

_Elegance?_ she thought. _What does he mean and how could that make a difference?_ She thought about the only time she ever really felt elegant - at the Yule Ball their fourth year - and tried again. _"Nox."_ The light flickered.

"We'll work on this tomorrow." Severus said and the light blinked off.

* * *

_Air!_ was Snape's first desperate thought the next morning. He was barely awake but already recognized he was choking on something. He clawed at his face and realized he was pawing through . . . hair. Hair? He was able to clear a blowhole and suck in enough oxygen to supply his brain and get it functioning again. Scowling, he ran his free hand over her head, collecting the smothering tendrils and leaving a neat braid in its wake.

He could tell that he hadn't moved an inch from where he fell asleep last night, but she was sprawled halfway across his body, head on his shoulder and that rat's nest she called hair had nearly suffocated him in his sleep. No wonder she had wanted the bed to herself, the swot. This marriage could be annulled within the first 24 hours based on irreconcilable differences alone. He hoped.

The call of nature, previously denied, was now demanding that he set about trying to extricate himself from under her person. One arm was carelessly flung across his chest and he thought he might could levitate her slightly and ease himself out from under. The major difficulty was the leg she had wedged between both of his, the knee perilously close to yesterday's injured party. If he was too abrupt moving her, she might startle and he didn't think he could survive a second insult below the belt in as many days. A wave of his hand raised her just enough for him to slip off the edge of the bed. She was dead to the world and fortunately didn't move a muscle. His groin gratefully avoided another assault. Standing, he stretched a bit and gently rubbed at his throat through his cravat. And a hot shower didn't sound too bad either.

A while later, he wondered if she had figured it out yet. Weasley wasn't coming to the rescue or he would have been here by now, Ministry bureaucracy accounted for. Most likely he'd been hijacked by the Ministry program as well, prior engagement be damned. Idiots. The boy should have inherited a waiver due to meritorious procreative services already rendered by his parents. He snorted to himself. He'd have to try that one out on Granger to see if he could get her to rise to such bait. She probably wouldn't think it funny, though, at this point.

Snape looked into the mirror, partially obscured by steam from his shower, and wiped his hand across his face, wandlessly dissolving the beard growth. He ran his fingers through his wet hair until his spell dried it. Since he didn't feel as wasted from the effort as the previous evening, he turned his attention to his clothing: a quick, remedial and wandless, cleaning spell and those items were good to go. He'd have to teach that one to Granger soon; her clothing was getting a bit ripe. He removed the towel from around his waist and began dressing. Underwear and trousers were, gingerly, still, donned and he put his arms through the sleeves of his white shirt. Then he heard the soft clinking of . . . silverware on a plate. He stalked into the bedroom.

* * *

"Miss Granger!"

She startled at his snarl and then he roughly grabbed her wrist. She dropped the fork, halfway to her mouth, and it clattered to the table.

"What idiotic behavior are you engaging in now?" For one brief moment she was staring up at _Professor_ Snape, terror of the dungeons, scourge of Potions class. But the partially dressed man, white shirt open down the front, didn't quite rise to the same threat level.

"I'm hungry!" She snapped back, pulling her wrist from his grasp. Technically, Severus was her husband now and so she didn't have to worry about disrespecting a teacher. "So, _obviously_ . . ," she stressed one of his favorite words, regarding him as the idiot, " . . . I'm eating breakfast! And it's Hermione!"

"And you trust the Ministry not to poison our meals?" Snape ground out through clenched teeth.

"Poison our meals? Why on earth would they do that? We can't possibly procreate if we are dead." She snarked back.

"Potions exist that do not cause death, _Hermione_. Can't you think of one in particular that the Ministry might use on us? One that might further their little scheme?" She looked down at her plate and paled.

"Oh." Then her cheeks colored a hot red. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed. We will have to test all the food they leave us before consuming it."

"But how? We have no access to . . . hmm."

"Precisely. What scents attract you, Miss Granger?

"Um. Freshly mown grass, new parchment and . . . well, the others aren't food either so it should work."

"Good. You'll have to test the food, then, and it would be best if you were blindfolded while doing so." He stalked into the bathroom and came back with his cravat. She eyed it with suspicion.

"Why do I have to do it?"

"For me, Amortentia evokes the aroma of sausage, toast, orange juice and fried eggs."

"Oh." She looked down at the breakfast that had appeared on their table and the menu was pretty much everything on his list. "Well, I don't need to be blindfolded, I'll keep my eyes closed and you can test me at random." They quickly ascertained that none of the items smelled like any of her triggers. They could eat this meal at least. He made to pull out the other chair but grabbed on to the back of hers instead. She looked up. He was as pale as he had been the night before.

"Severus?" She stood and ducked under his arm. "Time to lay down again." She helped him over to the bed and this time he didn't protest. He stretched out and she went back to the table and filled a plate for him. Retrieving her plate as well, she hooked a foot around her chair, dragging it clumsily with her over to his bedside.

"Eat." She placed the dish on his stomach. "Build your strength." She propped her feet up on the edge of the mattress and started on her own breakfast. He picked up the toast and took a bite. After a few moments of silence she remembered the surprise she had awakened to earlier.

"That spell you used on my hair yesterday - it does French braids too?" She stabbed a sausage with her fork and nibbled on one end. He glanced up at her - his eyes really were black - and nodded. "And why did you feel the need to braid my hair?"

"I've grown rather fond of oxygen," he said. She frowned, not seeing the connection. He continued. "I nearly asphyxiated in my sleep when you decided to use my shoulder in place of a pillow."

She felt her cheeks warm and pushed a piece of egg about her plate. "Sorry about that. I did try to warn you."

"I see. A _lady_ doesn't need an entire bed to flop around on at night, so I make no apologies for misinterpreting your meaning. If you had been more forthright, I _would_ have slept on the floor." She looked up at him and caught sight of a half-smirk twisting his mouth just before he shoved a sausage in it. He did have quite a wit about him, sarcastic though it might be. She glanced at his plate. And an appetite too. That was a good sign.

They finished the rest of the meal in silence and then Hermione set their plates back on the table. When she turned back around, Severus was sound asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Black Cravat

* * *

She watched Severus for any sign of movement. He'd been immobile since breakfast, had missed lunch and his somnolence might even encroach on dinner. At least he was breathing; she had checked, several times.

_Boring . . . boring . . . boring_, she thought for the hundredth time. She stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles and propped her head on the back of the chair, looking up at the wooden ceiling planks. Not even one book had been left in the room and she had checked everywhere, even underneath the mattress. The Ministry had ensured, as best they could, that there would only be one activity available for the inmates imprisoned in this room. She looked over at Severus, again, but he was still not moving. With nothing to do, her mind kept wandering back to Ron and why he hadn't come for her yet. And with that thought, tears plumped at the corner of her eyes. With the tears came the resolve to divert her thoughts and she scanned the room, again. _Boring . . . boring . . . boring_, she recited in her mind for the hundred and first time.

Standing, she meandered over to her scribblings on the wall. She had written July 7th in block letters at the top of one column of stones, planning to keep track of how many days it took them to get out. It hadn't been twenty-four hours yet. Just after dinner today, she would add July 8th next in line, at about the same time of day they had been locked up in this stupid room. Moving along the wall, she scanned her other notes. There was the chimney question Severus had mentioned. But how to answer it? Just after breakfast she had poked her head into the fireplace to check if any light could be seen up the flue, but it had been pitch black and if there was a bend somewhere, she wouldn't have seen anything anyway.

Now she went back and stood in front of the hearth. Why would it matter if the chimney vented physically or magically? As she mulled over the question, she studied the fireplace again. Wizards used it for warmth, for light, sometimes for cooking, and for . . . Flooing? She wracked her brain for details about the Floo Network. Fireplaces that could Floo had to be vented physically to the outside; magically vented chimneys couldn't even transport nargles. The fireplaces used had to be put on the Network by the Ministry - and surely they would have blocked this one. But Severus would have realized that and he still asked the question. What else? Floo Powder. Hm. Discovered by Ignatia Wildsmith. The sap of the Floo plant is collected, dried and ground into a silvery green powder. The powder is then thrown into the hearth flames and oft times - _not all of it is burned up!_ That could answer Severus' question, but she would need him to test it out. In the mean time, another experiment occurred to her.

She got up, snatched his cravat off the table and returned to the fireplace. Taking the length of silk by one end, she squatted in front of the hearth and held it in the center of the firebox. If physically vented to the outside, a small draft of air up the flue might be detectable. She watched the silk closely, not sure if she had enough light to be able to see it move, black fabric against blackened masonry. After a few moments she shifted to prevent aching ankles and accidently dropped the cravat into the ashes left over from the last fire.

"Oh, damn," she muttered. "He's going to kill me."

* * *

_Better find out what she's up to now_, he thought when he heard her swear. He opened his eyes, even though he felt like going back to sleep. Rolling onto his side he was surprised to find that his robes were draped over him. As stealthily as possible, which was considerable given his background, he slipped out of bed and stepped up behind her. She was rubbing furiously at his cravat, smearing ashes over the entire thing. She swore again. The fact that she had retrieved his robes from the bathroom and used them as a blanket to keep him warm would moderate his response. Somewhat.

"Hermione?"

She froze, there on the hearth, his black cravat, now mottled grey, dangling from two fingers.

"Severus?" she said, twisting to look up at him. He stared at her, a sudden sensation of deja vu sweeping over him. He tried to process the feeling as he watched her stand up and hold out the length of splotchy black silk. He frowned.

"I'm speechless."

"I really don't believe that," she scoffed. He couldn't entirely suppress the smirk that tried to pull at his lips.

"I cannot for the life of me imagine what you are doing."

"It didn't work anyway," she sighed, bunching up the cravat and handing it to him. With pursed lips, he ran his hand over it, casting a cleaning spell as he did so. He then looped it around his collar, to be tied later.

"I think this fireplace has been used for Flooing in the past," said Hermione. "If that's true, a little bit of unburned Floo powder is left behind after every transport. Can you collect that magically? If enough exists, one of us might be able to Floo out of here."

"Do you really think they would have left this fireplace connected to the Network?"

"We're dealing with the Ministry here. If they think we don't have access to Floo Powder they might not have bothered disconnecting it."

"That's actually an astute and possibly valid observation . . . "

"I'm not a know-it-all for nothing. It does have its uses from time to time," said Hermione.

He quickly turned toward the fireplace to prevent her from seeing the smirk on his face. Holding out one hand he said, _"Accio Floo Powder."_ Tiny puffs of dust erupted from the ash mound and Snape ended up with a very small palmful of the silvery green powder.

"It worked!" She did a little dance. "The chimney runs all the way through!"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger . . ."

"Hermione."

"Calm yourself, Hermione." Snape corrected. "We have to check if it's still on the Network."

"Right!" She snagged one of the chairs and attempted to shove it into the fireplace. Snape sighed.

"Patience, witch," he grumbled, and pulled it from her hands. "I'm not going to have enough energy to duplicate a chair if this doesn't work. Here." He took one of her hands, dumped the Floo powder into it and then went to the bed. He stripped one of the pillows of its case. "We can try this . . ." he turned back toward the hearth and, just like the towel the previous day, the pillowcase disappeared from his hand and returned itself to the pillow. "Or not." He was confused. "I wonder why they cast such enchantments."

"So we won't light a fire and use the Floo?"

"If they thought that far in advance, they would have swept the hearth as well. I suspect there must be another reason for the disappearing linens. I suggest we wait until they bring us dinner and use a piece of bread for our experiment." He removed the cravat from about his neck and smoothed it out in his palm. "For now, let's keep the Powder on our persons." Hermione nodded and dusted off her palm into his. "While we are waiting," he twisted the cravat to secure the Floo powder and shoved it in his trouser pocket. "I'd advise you take advantage of the facilities and partake in another shower."

"Are you saying I smell?" Hermione glared at him. Or tried too. He rather had the market cornered.

"You reek of _gnome_. I can only surmise that had something to do with the reason you took your ring off. Since you showered yesterday, it is not you, technically, that smells. Pass your clothes through the door and I'll use a few cleaning spells on them while you are otherwise engaged, uh, occupied. I'll hang them on the doorknob afterward."

"Oh. Then that's actually an astute and possibly valid observation . . . Severus." She smiled and turned toward the bathroom. She certainly was intent on wearing out his first name.

* * *

Hermione stepped inside the bathroom and quickly stripped. She decided to keep her bra and panties and wash them herself when she was in the shower, but handed everything else, muggle jeans, t-shirt, socks and trainers, to Severus through the barely cracked door.

The hot water felt good running over her body, but she didn't dally, quickly cleaning herself and her unmentionables. Shutting off the water she grabbed a towel, hastily dried herself and wrung panties and bra to squeeze out extra water. Her hair was clean enough, so that had stayed in its braid. She tried a wandless drying spell and was pleased that her underwear was damp and not wet when she put them on. Then she turned to the door to retrieve her cleaned clothes.

No clothes.

_What, had he become distracted?_ She looked around the rest of the bathroom, nothing. Opening the door a bit she poked her head out as best she could without exposing her barely clad body.

"Severus, are you done with my clothing?"

"I left them on the knob." He was sitting at the table, his back to her. He had donned his jacket.

"They are not here."

"Ah." He looked up at her, the furrow in his brow disappearing. "The puzzle resolves itself. That's about as subtle as Hagrid with a head cold." He stood up and walked to the bed. "I fear you have fallen victim to another Ministry plot." He picked up his robes and brought them to her. "The linens are enchanted to stay in the bathroom or on the bed, so you can't use them in place of the clothes they took from you."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Put these on and I'll see what I can do to adjust them for you." He handed his robes to her through the door.

Disgusted afresh at the Ministry, she pulled them on over her shoulders and tried to wrap them around her with some modicum of modesty. That morning she had been surprised at how soft they felt. Now, against her bare skin, they felt decadent. On her, they were voluminous. No wonder he billowed wherever he went. She took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom, dragging a black train behind her. She didn't expect her cheeks to get so hot standing in front of him.

He looked her up and down. She did her best not to let her face get any redder. Walking around behind he took hold of the fabric back of her thighs. She swallowed a squeak. The robes seemed to move around her by themselves for a few moments and then he stepped back. They now came to about her ankles and seemed to be a bit smaller on top.

"Oh, that's a fashionable length," she said, trying to ease her self-consciousness.

"I dare not attempt anything more drastic without a wand. You might end up with nothing and we don't want to give them the satisfaction."

Just then the food arrived. Juicy slices of roast, mashed potatoes, a few vegetables and some hard rolls appeared on the table, piled on two plates.

"Excellent! I was hoping for rolls," Severus said as he snagged one and headed for the hearth, pulling his cravat from his pocket. He placed the roll in the center of the firebox and held his hand over it. It burst into flame. Carefully, Severus, took a few grains of Floo Powder and tossed them on the tiny fire. Nothing.

"It would have turned green if the Network was connected, wouldn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was a waste of time."

"Time seems to the one resource we have plenty of," Severus said, shaking the rest of the Floo powder onto one corner of the mantel. Disappointment weighed heavily on her shoulders as they sat down to eat. Noticing that he had used his own bread roll for their Floo experiment, she stood, picked up hers and leaned across the table to plop it on his plate.

"You missed lunch."

She noticed a look of surprise on his face and looked down. The ill-fitting robes had fallen open down the front, giving him a comprehensive view. Mortified, she quickly snatched the edges of the fabric together, feeling her cheeks pink. His eyes were back on the meal, but he pulled his cravat from off his neck and handed it to her.

"You need a belt." She nodded, looped the silk about her waist and tied the rebellious fabric down tight. She plopped down in her seat and resigned herself to an embarrassing silence for the rest of dinner, but an echoing thump issued from the fireplace. Severus put out his hand and a book flew from the hearth which he deftly caught and placed on the table, the title facing her. "From my private collection."

_"Arithmancy: Solving Singularities!_ Hogwarts doesn't even have a copy of this! How on earth did you . . . what else can you Summon?"

"Anything that I know the general location of and that can fit through a chimney."

"That will be crucial if we're in this for the long haul." She felt a rush of gratitude. With Ron and Harry, she had always been the brains of the operation. It was nice having someone to share that responsibility with now.

She reached out to pick it up, but hesitated. Food and books didn't mix as far as she was concerned. "After dinner."

"Thank you for that."

"Thank you, Severus. For everything." She eyed him carefully. He was starting to flag again. The rest of the meal was passed in silence and then he retired to bed, under the covers this time, and was asleep in short order.

Hermione went to her notes on the wall and marked July 8th in her calendar column. For the rest of the evening, before the lights went out, she perused the book Severus had Summoned. If they had access to reading material, she could stay here almost indefinitely. She brought the book to bed with her, not knowing if the Ministry could confiscate it overnight. She hoped not.

Drifting off to sleep, she thought it curious that an old book could bring such comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here is chapter four. Chapter five is done and will be uploaded within an hour or two; it contains the twist I mentioned in the story description. Please let me know how you like it!

* * *

Chapter Four: Interregnum

Snape paced the floor; not out of habit or because he was facilitating his thought processes or because he was necessarily concerned about anything right at the moment. No, he simply needed the exercise. Movement felt good. From the simulated window he estimated that it must be around four o'clock in the morning. This was a good sign. That was the time he usually awoke in the morning and he presumed his natural sleep cycle was reestablishing itself.

At a gentle murmur from the bed, he paused and turned to look at the girl sleeping there. She shifted her position slightly, pulling his book a bit closer to her. Hmph. That had to be the definition of swot. Already distracted, he went to the simulated window and looked out. A nearly full moon was just setting and he paused to plan his day. He fingered a button on his shirt and leaned against the sash.

He had a scant agenda: eat, sleep, get the hell out of here. He might throw in a lesson on wandless magic for Granger - Hermione - and, no doubt, she would pepper him with questions about the book he had Summoned for her. He might soon regret his choice of reading material. He glanced back at his fellow prisoner. At least the book had, for some obscure reason, kept the chit on her side of the bed.

Why Summon one of his most valuable books? He sighed to himself. His primary character flaw had asserted itself again. His response to how people treated him tended to be excessive. If treated badly, he answered in spades. And life, backed by his ability with Legilimency, had taught him to anticipate bad treatment and head it off at the pass by taking up the offensive in such a manner as to disable enemies before they had a chance to attack. Most people had hostile reactions to him and so that was primarily what he was - offensive.

On the flip side, to those who treated him kindly he was overly generous and quickly developed an uncompromising dedication to. Lily had treated him with respect and affection, at least until the end of their relationship, and his heart had showered her with his loyalty and eventually his love. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had treated him well and with respect and he had willingly joined their ranks. If Snape hadn't given Lily his allegiance before he had pledged it to Voldemort, no one would have ever known of the prophecy, save Dumbledore, or that the Dark Lord had killed the Potters. After Snape went to Dumbledore on Lily's behalf, the headmaster had treated him with such surprising respect that Snape had devoted what he had thought was the rest of his life to the old wizard and his cause. Turns out that life was just a bit longer than Snape was expecting.

Hermione had covered him to keep him warm while he slept. She had been concerned that he eat. He knew of her interest in Arithmancy and knew how the rare knowledge in his ancient tome would please her. Now that everything was done and Voldemort was truly dead, Snape vowed to work on this flaw, not that he was off to a stellar start. This flaw that had seemed to guide every important choice he had made with his life. He needed to step back and create other criteria on which to base his decisions.

He resumed his pacing, this time focusing on what they could do to get out of this situation. By the time Hermione woke up, four hours later, Snape had examined the entire room and had concluded that there was no structural weakness that they could exploit, with a wand or without.

* * *

It seemed like he had been pacing all night. Hermione had dozed fitfully, surfacing from sleep whenever the cadence of his footsteps was interrupted. She finally gave it up as a bad job and dragged herself to the edge of the bed. Making sure the sleep-disheveled robes covered her pertinent parts, she decided a visit to the bathroom was in order. She hoped there was coffee with breakfast this morning.

She padded past Severus who was sitting at the table reading his Arithmancy book. He glanced up.

"Good morning, Hermione," he said.

"Good mmmuh . . ." she rasped. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Good morning, Severus." She headed for the bathroom. Did he always study in the mornings? Thinking back on it, she couldn't recall seeing Ron pick up a book to read in well over a year, not even the book of nursery tales that Dumbledore had left her. Severus was pouring over an Arithmancy text. She chuckled to herself. She was quite sure he wasn't just looking at the pictures.

She turned on the taps at the sink and set about her morning toilette. As she went to put her hands under the streaming hot water, the robes slid down her arms, threatening to get wet. They were so soft, she guessed they must be some variation of cashmere and would not take kindly to water. She pushed the robes off her shoulders and pulled her arms out. The silk belt kept them about her waist. She secured her hair back with her pencil and leaned forward to wash her face.

She scrubbed her skin with the bar soap that the Ministry had so "graciously" provided. She snorted at her own characterization of Ministry generosity and nearly got suds up her nose. Bending down to rinse her face, she felt the silk belt loosen and the robes flutter to the ground. "Merlin's beard," she muttered. Splashing her face to remove the lather, she then groped for a towel to get the water out of her eyes. Looking down - the robes were gone.

"Bloody hell!" She looked about her on the floor, under the sink. Damn Ministry! How was she going to explain this to Severus? She searched the bathroom a second time. Nothing. She went to the door, pressed her forehead to the jamb and sighed. Cracking the door barely open, she cleared her throat.

"Severus?"

"Hermione?"

"They took the robes you gave me."

"What happened?"

"I didn't purposely let them be taken, honestly I didn't; I know what they did last time and . . . "

"Hermione. You aren't responsible for the Ministry's contemptuous behavior. I simply need to know what happened."

"They slipped to the floor and disappeared when I was washing my face."

Severus stood and removed his jacket. He ran his hand over it, casting a few cleaning spells and then handed it to her. "No doubt it will need some alteration."

Gratefully, Hermione accepted his jacket and slipped into it. It would definitely need a bit of adjusting. The buttons, despite being numerous, only extended partially down the front. When closed the garment just barely conserved her modesty. She went back into the bedroom.

"Can you put more buttons on it?" she asked, trying to keep the lower panels closed. He shook his head.

"Not without a wand. But I think I can create a weak sticking charm." He moved forward and knelt down to perform the spell, but she stepped backward, embarrassed, and tried to yank the jacket further down. But that really fouled things up. He had already taken hold of the hem on one side, about midway up her calf, and as she stepped back his grip tightened and put her off balance. She would have hit the ground hard but he quickly cast a cushioning charm just in time. She desperately pulled at the jacket to keep herself covered, with varying degrees of success. Despite the view, he calmly took hold of the hem on the other side, held them together and cast the sticking charm. The lower panels came together, finally covering her legs. He stood up and offered his hand. She was mortified and the last thing she wanted to do was accept his assistance getting up off the floor. But better embarrassed than graceless, she supposed, and let him pull her up.

"Thank you."

"My apologies," Severus said, his lips twitching slightly, as if to squelch a smirk.

"Perhaps you could coach me on wandless magic and I might be able Summon some of my own clothes?" she asked.

Just then, breakfast popped in.

"Oh, great! I'm famished." Hermione, jumping at the chance to change the subject, approached the table and began inspecting each dish. "It's safe." She sat down and served herself generous helping of eggs, sausage, toast and marmalade. Unfortunately there was no coffee, but at this point she certainly didn't need it.

"Do you study every morning?" she asked, with the perfect timing of a dentist, perhaps it was genetic? Severus was chewing a mouthful of toast. He nodded and then swallowed.

"I try."

"Do you always wake up so early?"

"As is my wont. Though I feel I will be needing a nap soon." Hermione nodded and then wondered what it would be like to spend time around someone who actually liked to study.

* * *

Severus had lain down to sleep right after breakfast. It was nearing lunch time and she'd not seen any movement from him whenever she glanced up from the Arithmancy book. As she watched for signs that he was waking, she looked him over. He was a tall man, even taller than Ron, but was long and lanky. Ron probably outweighed him by about 50 pounds at least. The poor man was now down to his black trousers and white shirt.

He really did seem somehow different now. She had seen the same fierce glare, the smirk, the sneer as she had in class, but these expressions now came across as less severe, most likely because they were no longer directed at her. As she watched him sleep, she thought of how difficult his life must have been over the past twenty years. And of how the defeat of Voldemort would not have been possible without him.

His inky-black hair was spilled across the pillow under his head. It didn't really look greasy, just somewhat stringy. She often saw him run his fingers through it. She bet the man didn't own a comb. Of course there was that wonderful spell of his . . .

"Eep!" she bit back an exclamation of surprise when she suddenly realized his eyes were open and he was staring at her. There was no subtle indications that he had roused; he was just awake. Caught looking him over, she lowered her eyes back to the Arithmancy book and tried a diversion. "I suppose lunch will arrive any minute."

She had barely uttered that statement when lunch did indeed arrive. It looked to be pasties, vegetables, cheese, bread and tea. Severus took a seat at the table as she vetted each dish. At her nod, he cut into the pasty. Hermione buttered a piece of bread.

"Odd," said Severus. "I don't think I've ever had a pasty made with sausage."

Hermione had just cut into hers and inhaled a substantial aroma of cut grass. In a panic she looked up to see a forkful of pasty on it's way to Severus' mouth. "No!" She bumped her hips hard against the table as she reached across and knocked the fork from his hand.

"What in hades . . ." Severus sputtered.

"It's not sausage . . . it's beef." The rush of adrenalin was having secondary effects and she was trembling slightly. "They finally laced our food with Amortentia. The pasties, at least."

"Damn." He looked disparagingly at the rest of the meal. "I suppose we can make due with what's left over." He vanished the pasties with a wave of his hand, just as she had seen him do to the contents of many a cauldron in Potions class. Which reminded her.

"So you can tutor me on using wandless magic?" she asked. He looked at her over a piece of buttered bread.

"Let's take up where we left off." He lifted his hand and she watched as a bright blue globe of light formed in his hand and then slowly rose to float above their table. "Extinguish it."

"Elegance?"

"Elegance."

She thought of the Yule Ball again and sat up straighter, raised her chin and said clearly,"_Nox_." The light dimmed substantially, but didn't quite go out. Her improvement excited her.

"Why elegance?" she asked, watching the luminosity of the light globe increase to its original intensity.

"It encompasses most of what is needed to perform wandless spells." He took a sip of tea. "When you thought about being elegant, you straightened your posture. This allows the magic in your body to flow through you more coherently and this is what a wand does; it focuses and unifies the magic you already have - that is one way in which it increases your natural magical power. Try again."

Hermione thought more about her posture and put her hand out toward the globe. Pointing her finger at it, she opened her mouth to pronounce the spell.

"No!" Severus grabbed her hand. "Don't point. Don't substitute your finger for your wand. It will focus your magic very similarly to how a wand operates, but flesh isn't made for such uses." He released her hand and offered his, specifically his index finger. At the very tip was a white, pitted scar. "I made that mistake myself. Needless to say, only once." She touched the tip of his finger, running hers along the rough ridge of skin. He displayed his palm. "Think of your magic coming from your whole hand. Elegance - it's rude to point."

Hermione laughed and held her palm out to the globe. "Nox." The light disappeared. She did her best not to bounce in her seat with excitement.

"Wandless magic works best with spells that are less concentrated, more diffuse. Offensive spells that send out jets of magic are near impossible without a wand."

"There are a few more elements to 'elegance' that I should point out. Never rush a spell. Always be deliberate. Focus. And practice economy of movement. Superfluous motion causes the magic to weaken . . . "

"Foolish wand waving?" she piped up. He regarded her through narrowed eyes.

"Precisely. Spells are needed for some potions, but many wizards add embellishments that completely drain the magic from those spells. Fluidity is useful to collimate the magic; unnecessary flourishes bleed power out of it. Recognize the difference and you will increase your power with or without a wand. When casting a wandless spell, feel the wand movement in your mind, don't move your arm or hand other than to suggest a general direction. Try making the ball of light."

_Elegant, elegant, elegant,_ Hermione thought, letting the feeling of the word surround her. She let her mind see the brief wand movement of _Lumos_ and gracefully opened her hand. A small ball of light issued forth. She was ecstatic!

"Good. And you did that wordlessly as well as wandlessly. At this stage, if you cast the spell verbally, you'll put a bit more power into it."

"_Nox_," she said, putting out the light. And then "_Lumos_." The globe reappeared, almost as large as the one Severus made.

"What about Summoning spells?"

"Same general principles apply for wandless Summoning; you'll need to be specific about what item you're calling - picture the item in detail - color, size, etc. Picture specifically where you are Summoning it from. Can the item escape? That's always a problem. If you have a chimney connected to the Floo Network, it can escape your house or apartment, as long as it's not in another room closed off from the fireplace. Depending on its location, it may take some time getting here. I Summoned the Arithmancy book almost half an hour before it showed up. I would practice Summoning items in this room to make sure you can do it wandlessly first."

They finished their meal and Severus propped himself up on the bed with the book while Hermione practiced. He corrected her first attempts, directed her efforts until she was performing somewhat consistently.

She stepped up confidently to the fireplace and held her hand out to the opening. "_Accio jeans,_" she commanded. Now she would wait. Since she didn't have dibs on the book at the moment, she decided to focus on discovering any weaknesses in the room.

"Have you tried any magic on the walls?" she asked him.

"A few discernment spells. I explored this morning. Every seam appears to be reinforced with warding magic. We would need our wands to blast out of here; which is why they took them, I am sure."

"I wonder how they recognize when a couple has . . . you know . . . so they can liberate them from these so-called bridal suites?"

"Hmm." Severus rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. "Your turn with the book, I believe." He stood and headed for the bathroom. On his way, he snagged one of the chairs. He put it against the wall just outside of the bathroom door and laid the book down on the seat. "I think I will shower now. We should take turns watching each other's clothing." Hermione nodded and sat down. After a few moments, he passed her a bundle of black and white. She settled down to read until he finished.

It didn't take long and he exited the bathroom dressed in what was left of his clothing. Hair wet, he immediately crossed the bedroom and tried to open the door. Hermione frowned.

"Why do you think the door would be open now?" she queried, baffled as to his behavior. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, then shook his head.

"Have your jeans showed up yet?" he queried in return.

"Oh, I forgot." She knelt in front of the hearth and listened for any sound coming from the chimney. "Either it got lost or the spell didn't work."

"I suspect it never got out of your room. I can't Summon any more robes because they are secured in my closet which I cannot wandlessly open from a distance." He ran his fingers through his hair apparently employing the same charm he had used on hers, though he didn't seem to consider any type of styling.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Boy Who Lived

Hermione sighed. Just on a lark, she decided to record today's date before dinner instead of after. She scratched the point of her poor dwindling pencil on the rough stone and managed to etch out: July 17. They had been imprisoned in this room for 10 days. Her mind summed up, as it did each time she marked the date, their accomplishments so far.

By the third day, they had investigated every method of escape they could imagine between them. The room itself was impenetrable, having been heavily warded. At one point she had even volunteered to climb up the chimney flue, but Severus was adamant that he wouldn't allow her to do that, claiming that if she got wedged in she might asphyxiate before the Ministry noticed.

Although they both suspected that anti-Apparition spells were in place, neither of them had ever tried Apparition without a wand. As Severus had pointed out, he had never Apparated any place where he hadn't wanted his wand with him. But it was easily tested. Severus had tried to Apparate from one side of the room to the other and said he could feel the wards repel him as he stepped into his turn. They had crossed that one off the list.

Their days had shaped themselves in a remarkably natural and efficient manner. He awoke very early, studied and showered before breakfast. He had started using Silencing charms in the morning before she woke, for which she was very grateful. She tended to stay up an hour or two later than he did, but he seemed, on the whole, to need less sleep than she did, minus the recuperative naps he still required, although with lesser frequency and duration.

She usually spent the extra hours in the evening studying, now that she could produce her own globe light to read by. Severus had Summoned several other books from his personal library; books Hermione had never known existed: _Theorems on the Origins of Magick, Biologic Foundations for Magical Potency_, and _Astronomical Influences on Potion Elementals_. His selections kept her engrossed in the evenings and formed the basis for the handful of amazing conversations they had engaged in. He didn't even get annoyed at all her questions. At this point she wasn't sure why that was. Was it the lingering effects of the snake venom? Perhaps simply the alleviation of stress in his life due to Voldemort's death could explain the difference. But then a surprising thought occurred to her - was it possible that she was the one that had changed?

Oh, his sarcasm was still there. But they didn't actually argue. They debated, true enough, but one or the other either conceded a point or could acknowledge the veracity of the other's viewpoint. It was so different from Ron. In front of him, she always had to hide her intellectual abilities and whenever he was "right", he made sure she knew it. She hadn't realized how stressful that part of their relationship had been until it was abruptly gone. Now, not only was she encouraged to stretch her mind, she was delightfully provided with an example of how high her target should be.

Under his tutelage, her ability to perform wandless magic had improved by leaps and bounds. Although she was not able to Summon any clothing from her room at Grimmauld Place she was sure that was because the door and windows were all closed. One afternoon, when Severus was napping, she remembered that she had left a hair tie in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place and when it zoomed out of the fireplace into her hand, she was thrilled. She didn't tell him, though. She liked when he braided her hair. His reason for not teaching her the spell was that it would be best if she learned it with a wand first or she might make her "condition" worse. Okay, so he wasn't completely cured of the sarcasm.

She showered in the evenings, after dinner, and they took turns guarding their clothing. Three of the meals they had been served were laced with Amortentia, to no avail. Although the Ministry seem to have relented and over the past four days the meals had been free of love potion, neither of them would be letting their guards down anytime soon, on that they were certainly agreed. Actually, if she thought about it, they agreed on a surprising number of things. As she mused about how well they worked together as a team, a sudden realization hit her: although she thought nearly constantly about their mutual goal of getting out of this situation, she realized that she wasn't thinking about Ron much at all. She stared at the dates scratched onto the wall. Could she have fallen out of love with him in only ten days? What did that mean?

* * *

As he had trained himself years previously, Snape woke up without moving or opening his eyes. He could hear the girl scribbling something on the wall. Probably today's date. He wondered if he had slept through dinner. Her Muggle pencil was holding up well enough to this point. She sharpened it with one of the knives that accompanied their meals, before the utensils were retrieved after each meal.

He watched her now as she stood staring at the neat column of dates, obviously deep in thought. It had been an interesting, if confining, ten days and, although he assuredly would not have chosen this situation for himself, it wasn't as unpleasant as he would have thought it to be. He wondered how long the administrative idiots at the Ministry would fail to see the error of their ways. Surely someone on the outside was riled up enough about this unconscionable law that they were fighting to get it overturned, though he wouldn't bet that Weasley was leading the vanguard.

With a slight pop lunch appeared on the table. Hermione looked toward the table and then glanced at him. She smiled when she saw he was awake and went to test their latest meal for edibility. He joined her and they sat down to a hearty bowl of stew, thick slices of toast and fruit for desert.

"You know," she said, a nice chunk of beef on her spoon and halfway to her mouth. "That popping as our meals appear sounds like Apparition. And if this room is warded to prevent wizards from Apparating, then it must be house elves sending us our meals. In fact, I wonder . . ." The spoonful of stew was set back into its bowl.

"Kreacher!" Nothing happened. She tried again. "Kreacher!" He watched her closely as she hopefully scanned the room for the house elf. After a moment she realized he was watching her.

"House elves can Apparate where wizards cannot."

"Yes, I'm aware of that ability. They do it at Hogwarts quite frequently." He looked down at his bowl of stew and stirred it slowly. In the last 10 days it had been easy to avoid any discussion of Hogwarts, of the war, of the past, as preoccupied as they were with trying to foil the Ministry's plot. And he preferred it that way. He was not ready to hear about the particulars of how the war ended. He would have to face finding out about how many more people died and who those people were. The fact that the Ministry felt it necessary to enact a marriage law to increase the wizarding population was testimony enough to the deaths that must have occurred. Deaths that he was responsible for. _More_ deaths that he was responsible for. But now it may be prudent to skirt the issue if it meant getting them out of here.

"Do you know if I've been officially replaced yet as Hogwarts headmaster?"

"I know that Professor McGonagall has been acting headmistress, but I am unaware of any official edict by the board of governors to make that permanent. But then I wouldn't be privy to any actions of the board. Why?" She pulled apart a piece of toast and dipped it into her bowl. He kept his face blank despite the relief that flooded through his body. He felt like weeping for joy: Minerva had survived. She, at least, was still alive.

"Winky!" Snape called the Hogwarts house elf, who was also a no-show. "Dobby!" Hermione's face fell.

"Dobby was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange," she said softly.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know he was an ally."

"We've all suffered losses," she said morosely. "You probably more than anyone else. Professor Dumbledore. Lily Potter." Snape froze, spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth.

"How do you know about Lily?"

"Everyone knows about you and Lily."

"Everyone knows? How did that happen?"

"Harry saw your memories and then taunted Voldemort with that information during their final duel. You know, to distract him into making a mistake."

"I can't see that being much of an advantage."

"It certainly shocked Voldemort. But what really clinched his defeat was when his Killing Curse rebounded off Harry's spell, just like when he was a baby, and killed Voldemort instead."

"Potter killed Volde . . . the Dark Lord?" Severus asked. Hermione beamed.

"Yes he did. Thanks to everything you and Professor Dumbledore did for him. For all of us."

Snape's years as a spy stood him in good stead; no matter if the news was shocking, disgusting, horrifying, his stoic control never produced one iota of emotion on his face; never betrayed him. Then, as now, he did not give himself away. He casually dipped his spoon into his stew and brought a bite to his mouth. He was able to instantly recover from that very shocking bit of bad news. Potter was alive. That meant Volde . . . the Dark Lord . . . would not remain dead._ What had happened?_ Snape thought. He had given Potter the memories with instructions from Dumbledore. Potter knew he had to die to prevent the Dark Lord from returning. Dumbledore had the utmost confidence that Harry would sacrifice himself to save the Wizarding world. It was clear now, however, that Potter had not done so. Snape casually continued eating his lunch without skipping so much as a beat. His facade was perfect; it was one of the talents that had made him such a valuable spy. He could not risk asking her any more questions about Potter or she might become suspicious. Calmly, he wiped his mouth with his napkin, folded it and carefully placed it next to his bowl. Cold fingers of duty clutched at his heart.

_Harry Potter must die._


	6. Chapter 6

Chaper Six: Persuasion

* * *

Harry Potter must die.

And Snape would have to be the one to kill him.

Although last time it had taken the Dark Lord years to regain his body, practice made perfect and he'd already had nearly three months to attempt it again. Snape glanced surreptitiously at his former student. It had now become quite clear that the only way to get out of here was to bed the girl. His stomach seemed to sour and the last piece of toast he shoved into his mouth tasted like ash. He had been so relieved to think that the war was over. Of course it was too good to be true. Now he needed to think; he needed to plan. He looked up. She was almost finished with dinner as well. Change the subject.

"How are you liking _Biologic Foundations for Magical Potency_?" he asked.

She looked up at him, grinning. "It's wonderful so far! I'm only on chapter three but there seem to be quite a few ideas borrowed from Muggle science, which I find surprising."

"Chapter five hypothesizes about a "molecular coding" that controls the physical traits wizards have and might affect how magic manifests itself."

"DNA?" Hermione looked stunned. Snape nodded.

"It would be interesting to discuss the theories, once you finish that chapter," he said, letting the suggestion gently lead her.

"Well, I'll get started on that right now." she said, moved her dishes to the side and eagerly went to retrieve the book from off their bed.

While she settled at the table to study, Snape went to the window and leaned against the frame, looking out upon an evening meadow filled with wildflowers and bathed in light from a lowering sun. He needed to clear his mind and set up a plan, but the heavy weight around his heart was distracting him. When he thought he was going to die and gave Potter his memories in the Shrieking Shack, Snape had faced his end secure in the knowledge of two things. First, he had moved heaven and hell, done everything within his power, to protect Lily's son. Even later after understanding that it was impossible for Potter to avoid death at the Dark Lord's hand, Snape knew he had done all that he could to protect the boy and had fulfilled his promise to Lily. Second, he had remained faithful, in every way, to the only woman he would ever love. His devotion to her had remained pure and whole.

Now, to complete the mission to defeat the Dark Lord that he had embarked upon decades ago when Dumbledore had converted him to the cause, he would have to sacrifice both. Not only could he not protect the boy, he himself would have to kill Potter. And to get the opportunity to do so, he had to desecrate his memories of Lily. Fate was going to require that he sacrifice everything. Why did he expect anything else?

As he so often had to do in the past, he corralled his emotions and secreted them away into a shadowy corner of his mind. Logic was now unhindered and he began plotting.

First: getting out of here. They had exhausted every avenue and to no avail. It turned his stomach to realize that he was now forced to accept the Ministry's agenda and would be working to get the girl to have sex with him. This was so unfair to her. But more than most, Snape knew life was never fair.

His last resort would be to compel her, though duty might soon require that of him. Woo her? _Hardly_, he scoffed to himself. That would scare her more than forcing her to consummate the marriage. Trick her? Hm. That had some merit, but how?

Snape now analyzed Hermione's behavior, hoping to find something useful he could use to delude her into sleeping with him. She had complimented him on his efforts in the war - several times - and the look she had on her face when doing so was nearly worshipful. She had seemed impressed with all he had done to help defeat the Dark Lord. She had no idea, poor thing, what he would to do finish that mission. A cold smile played across his mouth. That, actually, might be the way. He could set up a situation to play on her well-known penchant for crusades on behalf of the oppressed. The best way to accomplish his goal was to make her think this was her idea. And he knew precisely how to manipulate that scenario.

Next, he had to decide how to kill Potter. He could make it public and straightforward and use the Killing Curse on the boy as soon as he set eyes on him. The benefits of that plan? He would have the element of surprise and it would be over quickly. If he kills Potter in front of witnesses - not a very Slytherin plan of action, to be sure - he himself will either be killed outright or captured and sent to Azkaban. Either way, Hermione would be rid of him, though her dreams would still be crushed, as he believed Weasley no longer available for marriage. There was nothing he could do about that.

A covert plan? It would be simple enough. He'd have to use a potion, but that could easily be brewed in his basement lab. He would have access to Potter through Hermione, who would be his wife and undoubtedly some social situation would arise, and probably very quickly, suited to such a plan. No one would ever know that he had killed the Boy Who Lived. The major benefit of Plan B would be that he would be left with more options. If the Dark Lord has reincarnated already, Snape would need time to track him down and hopefully kill him. Spending the rest of his life in Azkaban would not facilitate the completion of such a task. Also, a marriage to one of the three heroes of the war would give him operational cover until he could assure that the Dark Lord was gone.

Snape had learned long ago, and in the most painful of ways, to measure the consequences of his actions. Plan B would extend significantly beyond the death of Harry Potter. In the first fuzzy days after regaining consciousness he had felt such relief at news of Voldemort's death. He had sacrificed 20 years of his life repenting of his part in Lily's death and to taking down the Dark Lord. To get out of this room, he would have to indenture himself for at least another 20 years, and probably more, just to gain the opportunity to ensure that defeat.

He had to keep reminding himself it had to be done. It had to be done or all was lost. The Ministry could, apparently, force people to marry; they must have some mechanism to force them to have children, since that was the point of the law, but how were they going to accomplish that?

Children. Severus rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. He had never thought of himself as a father, but then he had never considered he'd have a life after Voldemort. He obviously had been a teacher of students and mentor of Slytherin House as it's head, but someone's father? A few rugrats at the beginning of the marriage and he could be shut of that particular millstone in, at most, 25 years. He could spend the majority of his time working and as little of it interacting with his offspring. He wished his own father had been as considerate.

And what of Hermione? It seemed the Fates had combined to put him in the most advantageous position possible to accomplish this mission. He would continue to be kind as possible to the girl; none of this was her fault, and he would have more options available to him by staying on her good side. Besides, it had turned out that it wasn't as difficult as he had originally imagined.

* * *

"There is only one thing left to do." Severus strode to the bed and stripped the duvet off the mattress. Hermione's eyes widened and she backed away until she bumped up against the wall. She looked like she wanted to jump out of their simulated window. He noted her alarm and shook his head. "As we've agreed previously, _that _is not a solution. We've examined every other possible scenario a dozen times over. There is only one left." He yanked the sheet off the bed and tore a thick strip off one end. As he twisted the fabric into a rope, he stepped up onto the bed and slung it over the iron frame of the canopy.

"This is the last real option that we have, other than what the ministry wants to force on us." He wrapped one end of the rope to the frame and made a loop in the other end. "I never expected to survive the war and, believe me, I was quite surprised to wake up in St. Mungo's. This . . ." He put a knot in the loop and measured its length against his neck. " . . . shouldn't be too messy . . . " He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing the scars at his throat that were still a very angry red.

"No!" Her eyes were now even wider and she had gone quite pale. Moving to the edge of the bed upon which he was standing, she looked up at him. "No! We can't let them win this way either!" She reached out and shakily laid her hand on his knee.

"This is especially unfair to you, Hermione." He looked down at the makeshift noose in his hands and then into her soft brown eyes. "You shouldn't have to be forced to marry someone old enough to be your father. Someone who . . ." He hesitated, but then opened the noose and drew it toward his head.

"Wait! We have to think this through!" Her distress was genuine. "Please! Taking yourself out of the equation would only make things worse."

He paused with what he hoped appeared to be sincere doubtfulness. Frowning, he said, "And why would that be?"

She hesitated. "Well, if . . . if Ron was forced to . . . to marry someone else," she swallowed hard, "which is the only reason he would not have come for me by now." Snape watched as she nodded, as if to herself, confirming the truth she had finally come to accept. "Yes. That is what has happened. No other conclusion can be reached at this point." Her shoulders slumped, finally admitting defeat. "That means I would be put back into the lottery and Merlin knows who I would end up with. I could be pawned off to someone old enough to be my _grandfather_. My _great _ grandfather, even. Worse, they'd probably be very . . . boring." She looked up at him with a faltering smile, blushed furiously when she realized she still clasped his knee and dropped her hand as well as her eyes.

"Better the enemy you know?" he offered.

"Better the enemy we know. Besides, we're not enemies" She reached up and pulled the noose from his hands. "If _I _decided to end it all, you would be in a similar situation." She yanked the rolled sheet from the canopy frame and fingering it as if tempted. "Last I heard Rita Skeeter is still available. So is Dolores Umbridge. "

"Your logic is not very persuasive," Snape said and involuntarily shivered at the women she had mentioned. "Sounds like you have the better prospects."

"I thought we were going to figure this out together? You're going to renege on your word?" He glared at her through narrowed eyes. With what she now knew of his history, she was shamelessly summoning her inner Slytherin to manipulate him. Excellent.

"You've made your point." He stepped from the bed and slowly sat down on the edge of the mattress. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into the palms of his hands and closed his eyes. He was aiming for dejected. Hermione sat down on the very corner of the bed, as far away from him as possible. This was a good sign. Keeping her distance meant she had mentally decided they would have to consummate this sham of a marriage, but had not come to terms with performing the physical act with him. _Careful now_, he cautioned himself, _too easily persuaded and you might pique her suspicions. Let her make the decision_.

"I guess we have . . . we have to . . ." She didn't finish the sentence.

"I've only ever been with one woman," Snape said, very, very softly. He ran his fingers through his hair and clasped his hands behind his neck, looking forlornly at the floor. And, as he had so often done with the Dark Lord, he told the truth, just not the motive behind it. "It had been my intention to remain faithful to her for the rest of my life."

* * *

Hermione stared at the morose man across from her, shocked. _Oh Merlin's beard _ she thought, _He slept with Harry's mother!_ Snape had slept with Lily Potter . . . Evans - oh she hoped it was _Evans_. If Potter, if Lily was unfaithful to James, there was a possibility that Harry was . . .oh, hell, that would now make her Harry's _stepmother_ and . . .

At this point her brain shut down before it fried itself. She was thinking too fast and getting ahead of the possible facts. Still staring at Severus, his last statement caught up to her whirling thoughts. She swallowed hard. For nearly two decades he had remained loyal to Lily's memory. He was as reluctant to consummate this farce as she was. Another thing they had in common. Shaking her head hoping to clear her mind, she realized she couldn't face this right now. She needed a diversion. They both did.

"I suppose we should discuss what we'll do after . . ." she felt light-headed, " . . . after we're let out of here." He nodded slowly. She stood up and shakily made her way to the table, picked up her precious stub of Muggle pencil and walked to the wall that had replaced her parchment. Making lists always calmed her. "What resources do each of us have? All I've got is some Muggle money from when I sold my parents assets to give them a new start in Australia. That's about 30,000 pounds, which will convert to about 6,000 galleons. And that's the sum total of my worldly treasure other than some personal effects. You?"

"I've got nearly all my salary for the last 17 years at Hogwarts probably about 150,000 galleons total."

"Wow." Hermione tried to lighten the mood. "I married well." Snape's only response was a snort.

"I also have a rundown home in a Muggle neighborhood, my familial homestead, such as it is. It needs a massive remodel, but we could stay there to start with."

"Muggle neighborhood?" She queried.

"Half-blood Prince, remember?"

"Oh. Right." She listed it on the wall. "What are we going to do for employment?"

"We won't have to worry about it for a while, but it would be helpful to find work as soon as possible. Apparently I'm no longer headmaster and I'm sure they wouldn't want me back as such." He stood up and began pacing. "But Hogwarts is missing at minimum, a DADA teacher, a Potions master, if Slughorn insists on retiring again, and a Muggle Studies teacher," he said glancing sidelong for her reaction. None. Could it be all the other teachers survived. His heart lifted a bit. "Minerva might hire me for any one of those positions, though I'd like to explore some other options for the long term." His eyes briefly flicked her way. "Do you . . . did you have a job before . . . this?" He indicated the room.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I sat my NEWTS, at the Ministry, about a week before ending up here. They were going to waive them for me - they did for Harry and Ron and they have gone on to Auror training - but I wanted actual scores. The three of us have been staying at Grimmauld place. Harry was going to marry Ginny last week - must have done so already. And Ron now, too . . . They're probably all still at Grimmauld."

"How would you prefer to be employed?"

"One of my favorite subjects was Arithmancy. Maybe something in research." She cleared her throat. "I rather liked potions, too." She looked at him from the corner of her eye. Again that half smirk, which she was beginning to think of as a smile, or the closest he was ever going to get to one.

"I have a lab in my basement - it needs a significant overhaul, but we could probably set up a small commercial enterprise there."

"You trust me to brew potions? In your home?"

"You were an excellent technician, Hermione. The fact that ..."

The lights blinked out. Beginning to tremble, Hermione dropped her pencil; there was no avoiding it now. In the darkness, she heard Severus sigh.

"Do you want to shower first, or should I?" he asked her. _Shower?_ she thought and then blushed, glad he couldn't see her.

"In the dark?"

A ball of light suddenly appeared in front of him and then floated into the bathroom. "Oh. I suppose I will, then," she said and followed the light. He fell in behind her and, nervously, her stomach cramped when she thought he was going to accompany her into the bathroom itself. But then she heard him drag a chair up to the spot where they took turns standing guard over each other's clothing. She forced herself to take a calming breath.

She partially closed the bathroom door, rapidly stripped and, hands trembling, passed the jacket to Severus. She turned toward the shower, her mind made up; she would get through this as fast as she could. Turning on the hot water, she stepped in, washed her hair and scrubbed her body, taking particular care, face flushing, with the parts that would be needed in the next few minutes. Barely dried off, she stuck her hand out the door, retrieved the jacket and slipped into it quickly. He wandlessly dried her hair as he always did and they traded rooms.

As soon as he passed his clothing to her, she headed quickly for the bed, eased out of his coat jacket, and tossed all the clothes across the end of the mattress, desperately trying to ignore her nervousness. She slipped, naked, under the covers.


End file.
